


Where Do You See Yourself In The Future

by HobblyWobbly



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 14:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobblyWobbly/pseuds/HobblyWobbly
Summary: “Cayde?” Andal lets the name slip before he can really stop himself and he tries not to focus on how fast Cayde stops, spins around and stares towards him expectantly. “Where do you see yourself? Like in the future?”(set in between the 1st Fall of Osiris comic and the 2nd Fall of Osiris comic)





	Where Do You See Yourself In The Future

If someone were to ask Andal during the Dark Ages where he expected to find himself centuries in the future he first off would’ve laughed, tried talking only to fall into another fit of laughter, most likely shout some profanities in Osiris’s direction as his fellow guardian would give him the middle finger, and then answer the question with another question. You see, Andal has never been one to look into the future- he’s more of the “go with the flow” kinda guy and if that flow means becoming the Hunter Vanguard then so be it. He’s learned in his own experience that the universe is unpredictable and whatever kinda bullshit Warlocks spew on about a “pattern in history” is about he just doesn’t believe it.

In all of his own personal studies, he has never found any pattern in history that could’ve ever foreshadowed the Traveler’s presence, the Light tapping into the world with its double-edged gift, or any of the minions that spawned from the Darkness. So Andal takes it one day at a time; handing off reports to new Hunters or receiving intellect from Scouts; playing Devil’s Advocate for any disputes between Osiris and Saint-14 which, one out of three times, end in the two playing some old married couple; mixing black coffee with any energy drinks he can find and whiskey to keep his consciousness out of the Void’s clutches; and making more anxiety driven knife carvings into the Vanguard table despite Osiris’s protests.

But even now Andal knows his oddly comfortable routine is breaking apart day by day as the corruption in the Last City grows, the tension between the Speaker and Osiris goes unsolved, and his own willpower against the Void beings to wither more and more. The carvings along the table only prove his weariness and Andal finds himself blankly staring at the designs one late evening, eyes following the childish doodles that follow no rhyme or rhythm compared to the intricate designs he’d made just months ago. He barely acknowledges Saint-14’s defeated “goodnight” as he steps out from the room.

On any other occasion, Andal would’ve followed his friend out of the meeting hall, stepped up on his tippy-toes, throw an arm over the Titan’s shoulders, and distracted his troubled conscious with an invitation to the bar. But nowadays Andal finds himself too zoned in on his own self-pity to even comfort his friends- becoming more of a bystander as he watches the solidarity between Osiris and Saint-14 dissolve just like their tolerance for each other. He reaches out for the glass and brings it to his lips, a tired groan slipping past when Andal dazedly realizes he finished the disgusting concoction of a drink hours prior.

He finds himself standing up without really telling his body to stand and lets his legs drag themselves over towards the mini bar Osiris personally had to be installed for the three. It’s as if Andal is a ghost and is watching the shell of his body move on its own. A minute hasn’t even passed before footsteps are approaching the meeting hall, Andal left corking the bottle with a thumb tapping against the glass in jittery, uneasy movements. There is a difference between being a stoic bystander to your own friends’ misfortunes and your friends discovering self-controlled state is all just some elaborate facade to hide your inner battles. Had Saint-14 forgotten something in here? Andal lets his eyes dart across the long table, registering and labeling everything he saw in his head.

Countless papers- most like research notes- kept together in a few paper clips and stacked upon even more countless books, pieces of different Fallen tech, empty coffee cups and shot glasses that still hold traces of the drink, maps of different planets, and other unimportant things Andal couldn’t believe held any importance to the Titan but as the footsteps began growing closer he knew he had to act fast. Downing the drink (he forgot what bottle he’d grabbed and hoped it was something strong to settle his nerves) Andal began loosening up his cloak because was it getting hot in here?

“Wouldn’t the Speaker be wondering where you are?” Andal manages to say when the presence of Light begins flooding his body and alerts him to the other being in the room. Ever since Osiris’s infatuation with the Vex (Andal refuses to believe it is an obsession, but who ever gives a damn about his opinions?) the Speaker has been keeping a close eye on his brightest student in fear Osiris’s involvement with Saint-14 would start corrupting his way of thinking.

“Thought it might be best not to alert him about my return. He never did take a liking towards me. Is it the jokes? I swear, Brask, that man has no sense of humor,” and if Andal almost drops to the floor in both relief and fear then he hopes it didn’t show, his knuckles already beginning to turn white from grasping onto his collar too hard. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know Cayde-6 is standing in the doorway most likely leaning on something, facial plates lifted in a smug ass smirk and chin raised all too confidently. “All I said is that he looks like a bleached asshole and he’s been on my ass ever since.”

“I think it’s the horn.” Andal carries out with a sigh, glancing over his shoulder and- just like he thought- Cayde is leaning against the entrance way with one foot against the concrete and head tilting back as if for cushion.

“Ah ah ah! Now that’s where you’re wrong,” and he pushes himself off from the entrance, long legs already closing the distance between them both as his hands gesture around wildly. “No one can ever hate my beautiful, beautiful horn. Do you think he’s jealous?” Cayde stops a few feet away from Andal and, to not be disrespect towards his pupil, Andal turns around so they are face-to-face.

“Maybe you should ask himself yourself some time,” his eyes glance from Cayde’s face to his scratched and beaten armor to his stupid illegally modified boots that have those dumb spurs. All it took was one happy outing to a bar, Andal getting piss drunk, betting that Cayde wouldn’t put spurs on his boots like they did in the Pre-Golden Age movies they always enjoyed watching, and Andal trying not to bust a gut upon seeing his best friend stride in the room with those hideous spurs that jingle-jangled with every step. The ‘I’m not surprised’ look on Osiris’s face and Saint-14’s innocent confusion had been worth it all. “It’s good to see you again.”

Andal would never admit it but he truly did hate how Cayde’s scouting missions always took him away from the Tower for months on end. He discovered a few years back that Cayde set up residence in an apartment in the EDZ and- as much as Andal really wished he hadn’t- he couldn’t blame the guy; the Tower and the Last City equally were run by corrupt people who only believed what they wished to believe. Cayde’s confidence weakens for a moment as he takes another step forward, optics flickering over Andal’s form and he can’t help wishing he could just curl up and die right then.

With everything growing out of his grasp he began slacking on his personal appearance; he finds himself self consciously reaching up to let his fingers brush across his growing hair that’s tugged into a messy ponytail and held under his hood.

“Yeah. The ponytail is lookin’ good though and for once you don’t have an infant’s beard,” Cayde still cracks a joke even when the air between them is tense and Andal can’t help but smile. Not a fake smile he puts on when Lord Saladin or Osiris try dragging him onto their sides of an argument and it’s most certainly not the ‘everything is going to be ok’ smile he wears when Guardians come up to him asking why the Fallen forces impending on the City are growing stronger every day.

It’s a smile that makes him briefly ignore the voices in his head and the worries keeping his muscles tense. “What are they doing to you, buddy?” He doesn’t know when or why Cayde has stepped closer but Andal doesn’t shy away from the hand that cups his cheek.

A thumb gingerly runs itself underneath one of Andal’s eyes, tracing the dark circles growing there from his nightmare plagued sleep which has him waking up in the night screaming, crying, or full-blown strangling himself because the Void’s grip around his soul is becoming so tight he’d rather die.

“Oh, you know,” Andal’s voice is just barely a whisper as he unintentionally leans into the warmth against his cheek, mentally thanking the Nine for creating someone so good as Cayde to be there in his time of need. “Just doing my duties.”

“Don’t know how you can stand being kept on such a tight leash. You really need to just join me on a mission sometime,” he flicks his eyes up to meet Cayde’s stupidly handsome face holding an equally stupid grin. “I can finally see just how great your sniping skills are, old man.”

“As much as I’d love to,” Andal brings a hand up to place against Cayde’s, an unnerving silence passing between the two of them. He knows this thing between them isn’t friendship nor is it love because they are just such broken people Andal isn’t sure they are capable of it, yet he’s sending silent prayers to the Traveler in hopes that the moment can last just a second longer because he knows the moment Cayde’s hand leaves his cheek he’ll be off another month-long mission and he'll be left utterly alone. “It could never happen,” there is another lapse of silence until Andal finds himself- against his own inner wishes- pulling free from the touch. “Osiris’s trial is being held in a few days.”

“Do you want me to be there?” The way Cayde speaks up barely even a second after Andal’s finished makes his stomach flutter in ways he didn’t know was possible. Here is someone so willing to fight the Traveler itself if Andal told him to and he’s pushing him away, but Andal has seen Cayde in his lowest moments. Even now it felt like yesterday when he saw the exo sitting in his empty apartment, alcohol bottles scattered everywhere like they were there from the beginning, and a piece of yellow turning paper clutched in his hands.

 _“I have a son,_ ” His voice held both no emotions and every emotion all at once. _“Or I at least had one. I had a goddamn son and I couldn’t even remember his fucking name.”_ So Andal held him in his arms the rest of that night, Cayde’s head tucked under his chin and words of reassurance spilling from his lips. But that was years ago and this is now.

“No,” he finally forces the word out of his mouth, stepping back from Cayde’s grasp and a smile is on his face; a fake, depressed smile portraying not even a quarter of the emotions battling around inside. “I can handle it on my own. You’d fall asleep halfway in what with the Speaker having a thirty-minute speech talking about why the Traveler is so great.” Cayde makes a face at that, hands sticking themselves in the pockets of his pants and legs guiding him away from the older. Andal- with shaking hands- uncorks the whiskey bottle, thinks better of pouring it, and just starts drinking it from the bottle.

“Yeah, good point. I uh… I should get going though- before Zavala starts thinking I disappeared again,” Cayde stands with his back turned to Andal who is now sitting on the flimsy table carrying all the different alcohol bottles and glasses, whiskey resting against his kneecap and hood slipping off his head so that the moonlight seeping through the large windows reflect off his face. “I’ll be seeing you, Brask.” They both know Cayde meant to say something differently, but neither of the two mention anything of it as Cayde starts making his way back the way he came.

“Cayde?” Andal lets the name slip before he can really stop himself and he tries not to focus on how fast Cayde stops, spins around and stares towards him expectantly. “Where do you see yourself? Like in the future?” He doesn’t focus on how Cayde visibly slackens and instead thinks over the words.

“Kind of a dumb question when I’m kinda immortal,” a hand is brought up and disappears in his hood, Andal not even hiding the way he stares at the exposed plates and wires of Cayde’s neck. “Don’t tell anyone but I’ve been fixing up that apartment I got down in the EDZ. I might try settling down there- set up a couple scouting points there for any new Scouts you send my way,” with every word Cayde says Andal knows this isn’t another one of his elegantly prepared lies to get his ass out of trouble or one of his outrageous lies to impress people; this is the full, unmasked truth. He just didn’t expect it to be so domestic. “Maybe you could swing by sometime- stay a few days. Were you testing me or something because that’s a really shitty test.”

“And I thought you’d go out with a bang.” Another smile is forced upon his face and Cayde rolls his optics, hands resting on his hips. Andal can’t help wishing things hadn’t turned out this way and that Cayde’s dream really could become a reality- the idea of settling down somewhere without the constant worries of keeping Osiris and practically everyone else from trying to kill each other or any Vanguard duties really becoming an appealing thought. He could already see himself in some four-walled apartment with peeling wallpaper, shot out paintings, and musky windows as he leans against Cayde’s chest just letting time pass without any worry in the universe.

“Who knows, Andal, who knows.” He doesn’t visibly let Cayde know how hearing his name leave the exo sends a stab of hurt into him and he doesn’t stop Cayde from leaving this time, eyes watching as his figure becomes a shadow in the distance and the footsteps drag away.

“Where do you see yourself in the future…” He brings the bottle of whiskey up and tilts it back and forth so he can watch the liquid slosh, the voices in his head already returning as their shadowy hands reform their grip on his will to live. “Maybe on the Moon I’d say.” Toasting to the happy memories of the past, Andal tilts his head back when the glass hits his lips and the liquid slides down his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ i liek angst


End file.
